Splat! Part 3

It was Thursday morning, and I awoke in my trusty-but-now-hated chair to the prospect of working from home for an entire day. Since this seemed like an awfully daunting task, I decided to put it off for a while and instead make coffee. Of course, this was much easier said than done. (Believe me, I first tried saying, “coffee, make thyself and then delivery thyself to me!” but it didn’t work.) Getting out of my chair, crutching over to the kitchen, and making a pot turned out to be an endeavor in itself, but I then realized I had to somehow carry my full cup back to my chair with both of my arms occupied by crutch duty.

My solution was less than elegant. I won’t go into any details, but I will say that it employed two stools as portable islands and took so much time that when I finally arrived at my chair, the coffee had grown cold. Sigh.

Luckily, working from home on my laptop turned out to be not nearly as bad as I thought, mainly because I was able to accomplish useful things, which was the exact opposite of life at home on crutches. Still, it was just my job, so when quitting time rolled around, I was ready to call it a day. I’d been sitting in my chair for basically nine straight hours, and it was time for a break in the monotony!! I happily closed my laptop with a satisfying 'click.' I could now do anything I wanted!! Of course, since I could still barely move around, “anything” basically meant sitting around in the same chair with my legs elevated for another six or so hours before it would be time to fall asleep in that very same chair!! Hooray!!! I mean, sigh.

I also worked from home on Friday, and as I logged off that afternoon, I swore to myself I’d make it into the office on Monday, even if I had to have my chair – with me strapped into it wearing a crash helmet – airlifted there. Luckily, I was seeing a bit of progress in terms of my mobility, as my crutching around was getting somewhat easier. My ultimate goal was to be walking by Monday, but I realized that might be overly-ambitious.

The first day of the weekend went well – I learned how to use the vacuum cleaner while on crutches – and by Sunday morning I discovered I could now move around with just a single crutch! This happily meant that carrying massive amounts of comfort food from my kitchen to my chair had just gotten exponentially easier. I celebrated by venturing out into the real world to restock at a grocery store. Predictably, I stressed out about looking foolish while hobbling around in public, not to mention falling over and having an entire display of canned goods topple down on top of me. Luckily, everything went well, and that night I was even able to sleep in my bed upstairs! (For the record, I did have to fight back the urge to light my chair on fire, as a sort of both a spiritual cleansing and a symbolic gesture of moving forward.)

I went into work on Monday with my single crutch, where I discovered that my helpful co-workers had been busy. Surrounding my desk was a living room chair, a walker – complete with the much-dreaded tennis balls – and a lamp. I could now recreate my Work From La-Z Boy experience of the previous week! Oh, and our team mascot – a plastic skeleton named Mr. Chill ‘n’ Bones – was also sitting in the living room chair with his feet up, complete with a neck brace and bandages on his left knee and right ankle. How thoughtful and caring! Showing that I was a good sport, I threw the walker across the room and said a few choice words, such as “I”, “hate”, “you”, and “all,” and then settled into my office chair to get to work. As the day progressed, however, I began to feel bad for being annoyed at the prank, and eventually I began to appreciate the thought and humor put into it, to the point of switching on the lamp and stopping in my attempts to swipe at people with my crutch as they walked by.

On Tuesday I again came into the office on one crutch, but I soon discovered I could hobble around without it, which was a major victory. (I’ve never been more proud of walking without assistance to the restroom.) On Wednesday I didn’t even bring the crutch in, and on Thursday it felt like things were finally getting back to normal. While still far from being healed, it felt like real progress was being made! I hadn’t realized how much I enjoyed going to work and interacting with my co-workers, and it really helped to lift my spirits and return a sense of normalcy to my life. Of course, it was on that same Thursday when it was announced that we would all be working from home indefinitely because of stupid COVID-19. Sigh.

Oh, and I also had my MRI scheduled for Friday, which was really beginning to stress me out. But that’s another story.

Splat! Part 2

The next morning I opened my eyes, hoping against hope that I’d be on the receiving end of a miracle. For example, perhaps I’d be lying in a comfy bed in some other part of the world, healthy and ready to climb some nearby mountain. (Dream big, right?) Unfortunately, I found myself sitting in the same chair in the same living room, with my left knee and right ankle fighting each other for my attention:

Left Knee: “I hurt way more than you do! He should pay more attention to me!”

Right Ankle: “Nuh-uh! I hurt way more than you!”

Left Knee: “Oh, yeah?! You’re stupid!”

Me: “Groan.”

Knowing I had to figure out the extent of my predicament, I carefully began to take stock of my injuries by slowly lifting and flexing each of my legs. A few seconds later – after a flurry of complicated mathematical calculations and extrapolations – I determined that I’d probably be sitting in that chair for about four years, give or take a calendar season or two.

While not surprised by this turn of events – stupid birthday! – I was still disappointed, mainly because moving around freely would no longer be an option for quite a while, and – like an idiot – I’d never followed up on one of my brilliant ideas, which had been to move my refrigerator right next to my living room chair, in case of an emergency just like this or an extreme attack of laziness. On the bright side, I had been smart enough to log into work the previous night and take a day of PTO, picking an Absence Reason of “Lower Portion of Body no Longer Functional.” So, at least I was covered there.

With my entire day free, I quickly realized that I could devote all of my time to sitting in my chair and stressing out over worst-case scenarios. Now, I’m sort of a master at stressing out over things, and it didn’t take me long to conjure up all sorts of convoluted end-games, most of which involved me wearing a full-length body cast up until the day I retired. Realizing this wasn’t healthy, I soon came to the conclusion that I should probably go and have a doctor check things out, just so I’d know which worst-case-scenario I was dealing with (“Your knee will literally fall off in about a day or so. Oh, and you have bad breath.”)

Happy to have something to do besides sitting in my stupid chair – which I was quickly beginning to hate – I made a bunch of phone calls and got myself scheduled at a nearby orthopedics clinic, then arranged a ride to and from. Pleased with my efforts, I leaned back and tried to relax. A moment later, however, I realized that I’d have to find a way to get out of my chair, which I couldn’t envision happening without the help of a crane and a well-placed hole in my roof. So, after about five seconds of blissful relaxation, I was firmly back on board the Stress Train.

Several ulcers and a few hours later, my ride showed up. Calling upon a well of inner strength I didn’t even know I had, I was able to get up and out my chair and make it out into the waiting car. Still, it wasn’t pretty. The entire process was a symphony of grunts, groans, hops, and shuffles, complete with the help of a stool that I used as a sort of makeshift walker. Like I said, it wasn’t pretty, and I shudder to think of it now.

Once I arrived at the clinic, however, it was free sailing, as I was able to upgrade from my makeshift walker to a full-blown wheelchair. This was easily the best part of my day. In fact, it was so fun that I may have made engine noises with my mouth as I was wheeled into the building: “Vroom, vroom!” After getting myself checked in, I passed the time by trying to master the chair’s controls, all while trying not to accidentally run over anybody passing within several feet of me. This little game managed to amuse me until it was time to be seen by the on-call doctor, who broke the ice by saying, “So, you’re a mess, huh?” Telling myself that he was only stating a fact, I fought back the urge to reply, “Well, you don’t look so hot yourself, buddy!”

After some poking and prodding, I was sent to get a few X-rays, despite the fact that I was sure I hadn’t broken anything. Still, it wasn’t like I was going to be able to make a quick getaway or anything, and so I relented. Upon being wheeled into the X-ray room (“Vroom, vroom!!”), a group of technicians swarmed over me. Eventually, one of them said – and I’m paraphrasing here a bit – “So, you have a bad left knee and a bad right ankle, huh? And you can’t walk or bear any weight at all? Well, stand over here for a prolonged amount of time, so we can run off into another room and take some pictures at our leisure.”

Luckily, getting out of the wheelchair for the X-rays turned out to be much easier than getting out of my chair at home, since the X-ray room is build for people who can’t walk. There are handles and railings and poles everywhere that can be used to haul yourself up and move yourself around on, and I soon felt like a cross between a model at a photoshoot and a gymnast on the parallel bars. (“Now turn this way and stick out your ankle! Good! Now look back over your shoulder! Beautiful! Now spin this way and show me your knee! Perfect! Now get up and stop crying!”)

In the end, the official diagnosis was a sprained ankle and a sprained MCL, which was seriously welcome news, as avoiding tears and ruptures had been my best-case scenario. I was issued crutches and a walking boot and sent on my merry way, with orders to get an MRI on my knee to verify that no additional damage had been missed. (“The MRI reveals that your knee has fallen off, and also that you have bad breath.”) I was then to come back for a follow-up appointment.

After being driven home, I used my new crutches to grunt, shuffle, hop, and groan my way back into the house, at which point I collapsed into my chair, vowing to never move again, even if I had to have Dominos deliver right into my lap. Armed with some newly purchased supplies and ice packs, I was soon left alone to fend for myself. Looking at the clock, I saw that it was only mid-afternoon, which meant I had an awful lot of time to kill before I got to go to bed. Luckily, I had books to read, an iPad to rot my brains, and a ceiling to stare up at blankly for endless hours on end. Plus, tomorrow would be less boring, as I’d decided I was ready to rejoin the working force and WFL (Work From La-Z-Boy). That, however, is another story.

Splat! Part 1

I recently celebrated a rather momentous-but-troubling birthday, and – in the spirit of meeting all of life’s challenges head on – I decided that my best option was to simply ignore that it had happened in the first place. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Well, as it turns out, just because it’s out of mind doesn’t necessarily mean your body still isn’t paying attention, especially when it comes to situations of a chronological nature. Let me explain. Several weeks later I was playing wallyball, which – for those unaware – is basically a game of volleyball that takes place in a racquetball court. This is one of my favorite sports, mainly because it’s very easy for players to lose their bearings while trying to track the ball and run full speed into a wall. Now, while I realize that it’s absurdly childish to be amused by this, I honestly don’t care. I mean, it’s hilarious!! Plus, it’s not like all of my juvenile behavior was building up a bunch of bad karma or anything!

Or was it?

It had been a fun night, and we were playing what would probably be our last game of the evening. However, instead of winding down I found myself getting more and more intense, probably in an attempt to prove that I’d never really celebrated that momentous-but-troubling birthday. Suddenly, the ball was hanging up near the net, and I jumped like I had a million times before, trying to make a play. This was when my body – which has always had a terrible sense of timing – chose that very moment to give up on performing anything of an athletic nature ever again, and I suddenly came crashing down to the ground for absolutely no reason at all.

It sort of looked like this

Now, I’m normally pretty good at falling down – probably due to a lifetime’s worth of practice – but this time it was different, as I somehow managed to sequentially land weirdly on both of my legs. (My theory is that I was too busy flailing about wildly and/or screeching like a child to devote enough brain power to sticking the landing.) About a second later I found myself sitting on the ground, feeling warning signals emanating from both my left knee and right ankle. Immediately I knew my male pride was on the line. I couldn’t be injured! And, if I somehow was, I was going to need to walk it off, not to mention make some sort of dry, humorous comment about needing to just “tape it up.” So, calling upon every ounce of stubbornness and courage I had in my body, I made a Herculean effort and heroically managed to move myself about an inch.

Uh-oh.

By this time people were gathering around, wondering why I’d decided to fall over for no good reason at all. I brushed off their concern, saying it was no big deal, but I think I lost a lot of credibility when I then tried to scoot over to the door on my butt. Thankfully, after a few minutes of rest I was able to stand up and walk off under my own power, which led to a thunderous round of applause from the crowd that exists in my head for just such an occasion. (Looking back, I wish I’d have given a thumbs up as I stepped out into the hallway.)

Calling upon the power of deductive reasoning, I guessed that my right ankle was sprained, mainly because it no longer resembled a right ankle, and I assumed the same was true with my left knee. While not a great turn of events, it seemed manageable, as I was still moving around with relative ease. In fact, I was able to get cleaned up, walk out to my car, and drive home without much trouble, all while being able to make a few dry, humorous comments. (“It’s no big deal. I was getting sick of my feet pointing in the same direction, anyway.”) However, by the time I’d parked my car in the garage, my lower-body motor skills had begun to erode dramatically, to the point where going up the stairs to my bedroom seemed on par with climbing Mount Everest. So, I decided to sleep in the chair in the living room (chair nap!), all while cursing my momentous-but-troubling birthday. Closing my eyes, I hoped that everything would miraculously turn out better in the morning, but, unfortunately, I was going to be sorely (har!) disappointed. That, however, is a story for another day…